


A Spooky Tale

by thegrrrl2002



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrrrl2002/pseuds/thegrrrl2002
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A spooky little story for Halloween.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Spooky Tale

"He came up this way," Steve says as Danny catches up to him.

Steve shines his flashlight on the ground and Danny can just barely make out the motorbike track in the dirt.

"Okay, fine, so he came through this way but he must have ditched the bike." Danny can't hear the motor anymore, although with the wind sighing in the trees he can't be sure of anything. "And while I would really like to catch this guy, I really don't see the point of--hey, hey--"

Steve has taken off down the road and Danny has to trot again to keep up with him. "As I was saying, our guy could be anywhere by now. Not that I'm impugning your tracking skills, I assure you."

"I don't know, Danny." Steve pauses to shine his light into the trees alongside the road. "I'm feeling a little bit impugned."

"Okay, then." Danny spreads his arms wide. "Where is he?"

Steve bites his lip, thoughtful. Then with a jerk of his chin, says, "Let's at least go a little further down the road."

The road is dark and unlit but Danny goes along with Steve. For now. Soon the road narrows down to a mere footpath, narrow and overgrown with bushes. It's a dark night with heavy, low clouds and Danny stumbles over loose rocks. He can't see beyond the beam of his flashlight and it's starting to get annoying.

"Steve, this guy could be five feet from us and we won't see him." Danny sweeps the light over the ground at his feet. "And I'm not seeing any tire tracks."

"Yeah. Me neither." Steve comes to a halt.

The road divides ahead of them and Danny shines his light down one path, then then other. The wind has shifted and mist hangs in the air, reflecting the light back at them. Danny gestures down one of the paths. "As much as I hate to say it, are those footprints?"

Steve kneels down beside the mark in the dirt. "Can't say for sure. Ground's too dry here." He straightens up and cocks his head to one side, listening.

"Come on," Danny says with a sigh. Even though he'd rather head for home, he starts down the path with the maybe-footprints. They're going to be out here chasing their tails all night long but Steve's got that face. A face filled with a determination that says he's not giving up. That he can't give up. It's not who he is.

Sure enough, Steve's face brightens as he follows Danny. "He's got to be here somewhere."

"Of course." Danny pushes a leafy branch out of his way. "This is, like, the most fun ever for you, isn't it?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Steve admits with a grin.

Danny rolls his eyes. They could be home right now, having a the most fun ever in an entirely different kind of way. Although, to be honest, working off the adrenaline rush from chasing down and catching a suspect can be a lot of fun, too, with the way Steve gets all wired and excited and--

There's a rustling sound off to one side. Startled, Danny reaches for his weapon as Steve swings his flashlight over.

Something small and furry waddles out from the bushes.

A raccoon.

"Damn it," Danny mutters, heart racing. "Have I mentioned lately how much I love cities?"

The animal scurries past them and Danny continues with Steve down the path, not that they can see much of anything, with the canopy stretching up over their heads and their flashlights barely penetrating the mist. It's starting to feel a bit eerie.

"End of the line," Steve says.

There's a dark mass ahead of them, revealed by Steve's flashlight as a vine-covered wall.

"I think we can safely say he didn't go this way," Danny says as Steve inspects the wall closely. "Come on, let's check the other path."

"No, wait." Steve pulls a vine away from the wall. "It's a gate, Danny."

Danny gets up close and sees that it is indeed a gate, a heavy, rusted metal gate that looks as though it hasn't been used in about a century. "Yes, okay, but you don't think he--"

Steve's tugging on it now, hand wrapped around a metal bar. Sure enough, the gate pulls open with a reluctant squeal, maybe six inches or so, before grinding to a halt. "Come on."

Steve slips through the opening and disappears.

" _Steven_ ", Danny says sharply, not that he's spooked or anything. Except that maybe okay, he is, just a little.

He follows Steve through the narrow opening, turning sideways to squeeze through and if his shirt catches and rips, Steve is so going to hear about it.

Danny makes it through the gate unscathed and finds himself standing in what might have once been a driveway. The undergrowth is less heavy here but he can't find Steve and if Steve has wandered off somewhere he really is going to be pissed. Turning and swinging his flashlight in an arc, Danny finally spots Steve off to the side, gazing out over a clearing. "There you are, you jerk."

Working his way through deep grass, Danny heads toward Steve, who seems to be watching something. And who isn't moving a muscle. Weird. Danny calls again but Steve doesn't answer. "What, you're ignoring me now? Still feeling impugned?"

Something's not right. Breath catching in his throat, Danny gets a few steps closer and shines the flashlight directly on Steve. "Steve?"

It's not Steve. It's a statue, a tall, moss-covered statue, with flowing robes and wild hair. Which is not creepy at all.

Right.

"Danny, what are you doing?" Steve calls from further up the drive.

"Being an idiot, that's what I'm doing." Danny scowls at the statue, wishing he could arrest it simply for creeping him out. "Hold on, I'm coming."

He heads back to the driveway and finds Steve just beyond a curve in the road and--whoa.

There's a house. A tall, dark house, looming in front of them, silhouetted against the cloudy night sky. It has multiple stories and rooflines sloping in every direction. "I didn't think there were any houses out this way," Danny says.

"Come on. I think I saw someone at the window," Steve says, hurrying up the driveway. "On the second floor."

Danny follows. Reluctantly. "You're kidding me, right?"

Steve reaches the front stops and pauses. "What? You're not afraid, are you, Danny?"

"It's dark, it's late," Danny says, indignant now, "and this house is falling apart." He shines his light on the sagging roof. "If you fall through the floor and break your leg, I am not carrying you back to the car."

"Oh, okay." Steve grins. "Thought maybe you were afraid the house might be haunted or something. Oh, wait, you don't believe in ghosts anymore. Right?"

"You are right. Absolutely right." Danny pushes past Steve, grabs the doorknob and turns it.

It comes off in his hand. Which a superstitious person might see as the house trying to prevent them from entering, but Danny isn't superstitious. At all. Not even a little.

Steve nudges Danny aside and reaches into the hole in the door, pulling away the rotten wood. "So the woman and her dog that you saw at that apartment complex--"

"Where exactly that. A woman and her dog. It was all your fault that I jumped to conclusions about her, you with your stories about spirits of the ancestors." Danny keeps his flashlight trained on the door as Steve breaks the rusted lock.

"Okay," Steve says with a nod, and he looks a little too smug about it. He pushes the door open and steps aside, motioning for Danny to go through first.

Danny draws his weapon and steps through carefully, sweeping the hall with his flashlight. There are many reasons why he doesn't like this, not the least of which is that there are too many places for a suspect to hide, too many rooms and too much dust and cobwebs and the place smells like something died and rotted away under the floorboards.

The dust and cobwebs, though, appear to be undisturbed.

"I don't think anyone's been in here," Danny whispers.

"He could have found another way in. Let's check upstairs." Steve shines his light down the hall. "Look, there's a staircase."

"Oh. Goody. A staircase." Danny scowls at Steve but Steve has already pushed past him, so his scowl is wasted on the back of Steve's head.

Even so, Danny likes to imagine Steve can sense it anyway.

They start down the hall, pausing to check each room as they pass but the rooms are empty, aside from shrouded furniture, a few old lamps and one actual, genuine candelabra, complete with half burned, drippy wax candles.

When they reach the foot of the stairs Steve hesitates and Danny listens hard, but all he hears is the wind gusting wildly, making the window frames rattle. He shakes his head at Steve and shrugs, but Steve only nods and starts up the stairs, carefully shifting his weight up onto each step. The old wood creaks alarmingly.

"Not carrying you," Danny whispers harshly. The air in the house seems somehow oppressive, making it hard to breath in. When he looks up the stairs he sees nothing but darkness, as if the stairs are a gaping mouth, waiting to swallow them.

But Steve is making his way up, slow and steady, and Danny has no choice but to follow, the wood shifting below his feet. He tries to support himself with the banister but it's too shaky. He settles for running a hand along the wall to hold himself steady, fingers catching on the peeling wallpaper. Plaster dust trails after him, and he sneezes violently. Steve shushes him--as if Danny could somehow help it--and by time they reach the first landing Danny is sure his sinuses will never be the same.

They continue creeping up and reach the top of the stairs without incident, without getting swallowing into the darkness but Danny's heart is beating a little too fast, there's sweat trickling down the back of his neck and his jaw is tense. All he wants to do is turn and run back back down the stairs.

Steve stops and looks around, down the first hallway, then the next, wheels clearly turning in his crazy gonna-catch-this-bad-guy-at-all-costs mind.

"This way," he whispers, pointing down the first hall.

Danny nods and follows. The quicker they do this, the quicker they can get out of here.

There's only one room off of the hall, at the very end. Steve pushes the door open and swings his weapon up. Danny follows, trying desperately to catch any movement in the murky light but again, there's no one there, only lumps of furniture shrouded in white cloth. And dust. Lots of dust.

Undisturbed dust. Until now, that is.

Danny sighs, loud and pointed.

"I swear to you I saw someone, Danny. Right up at this window." Steve strides over the window and pushes the curtains aside, looking out at the hillside below.

"No one's been here for ages. Centuries, maybe." Danny gives up on whispering. There's no one else here, he's sure of it. No one living, that is. "And certainly not our guy. He's probably halfway back to the city by now."

"Maybe you're right." Steve frowns as he holsters his weapon. He looks disappointed, so deflated that Danny feels a little sorry for him.

"Hey, what do you say-- we come back in the morning and see if we can find some evidence?"

"Okay. Yeah." Still, Steve's tone is sulky as he checks the window again.

"I get it, it won't be nearly as thrilling in broad daylight." Danny lowers his gun and walks over to what is presumably a couch and tugs at the cloth, watching the clouds of dust rise up. "Who really does this with their furniture?"

Steve glances over and shrugs. "I don't know."

Danny peers at the couch under the cloth, cushions worn thin and covered in dark, unsettling stains. He drops the cloth quickly.

"Could we please get out of here?" Danny asks. "I'll admit it if it will make you happy. This place is giving me the creeps." As if on cue, there's a flash of lightning, then a low rumble of thunder.

Steve holds a hand up abruptly. "Did you hear that?"

"What? Hear what? The thunder?" Danny cocks his head. He can't hear anything other than the wind, but there's a prickly feeling at the back of his neck, like all his hair is standing on end. "It's an old house, a creaky old house, that we are in the process of leaving from."

"No, no, not the thunder. It sounded like footsteps."

There's a lull in the wind and now Danny hears it too. A slow, steady _thump thump thump_. Above them, maybe. Danny catches a movement out of the corner of his eye but it's only the curtains, the window is drafty and leaking and his heart is beating faster and he's got a tight grip on his weapon.

"You heard it too," Steve says.

"No, no, okay, maybe I heard something but--old creaky house, remember?"

"Must be an attic up there," Steve muses. "Let's find the stairs."

"No, no, we're not finding any more stairs. We're leaving. Now," Danny insists. He tugs on Steve's arm.

Steve grins. "What, are you scared, Danny? You told Kono you didn't believe in ghosts."

"Do not mock me, Steven." Steve doesn't understand, he wasn't the one who had a nice little chat with a lady ghost and her dog--her _ghost_ dog, for god's sake. Danny thought he had managed to talk himself out of believing it, he truly did, but now, here in this ridiculous old house, ghost ladies and ghost dogs all seem perfectly reasonable.

Another loud thud sounds, directly above them.

"You know who is up in that attic?" Danny asks. "It's either Vincent Price or Frankenstein, and I'm pretty sure there's a vat of acid in the basement and skeletons in every closet so what do you say we leave and come back in the morning, please?"

Danny tugs harder on Steve's arm, and Steve finally allows himself to be dragged out of the room. And still, with that amused look on his face. Danny's going to have a word with him about that. Outside.

"You watch too many movies," Steve says. "You know that?"

Danny holsters his gun--because guns are useless against spirits--and they step out into the hallway, with the horrible red wallpaper with the vines and flowers, if those amorphous blobs could be called flowers and the dusty, stinky carpet. Steve's still snickering quietly to himself as they head back to the stairs but Danny just wants to leave. He's got dust up his nose and cobwebs in his hair and his heart is pounding and he wants _out_.

A low, long moan--it's a moan, Danny's sure of it--echoes through the house.

Steve is no longer laughing.

At the end of the other hallway is a figure. A towering, flowing figure, gliding toward them, moving in a way that living creatures should not be able to move. Danny can't make out the face, it's dark and shadowed under a hood but the eyes are glowing red and the hallway is freezing as a cold wind blows, like icy tentacles reaching straight out to touch them.

"Uh, Danny?" Steve's voice is quiet and tense. "What do you say, time to get out of here?"

"You think?"

They fly down the stairs, Danny praying with each step that the wood holds up. And it does, until the very end--Steve's foot goes through a riser and he falls to the floor with a thud, cursing under his breath.

"Seriously, Steve?" Danny pulls Steve to his feet and they scramble down the hall, shadows moving wildly as the flashlights sweep across the floor and there's the door, the open door, straight ahead of them--

It slams shut with a bang.

Danny skids to a halt, very nearly hitting the door, Steve right up behind him, bumping against his back. Danny reaches for the knob that isn't there, and oh, right, he pulled it off, they should have known that meant the house was not to be entered and he wants to look behind him and he doesn't want to, doesn't want to see those glowing red eyes again and his shirt is damp with sweat yet he's shivering in the cold and--

Steve reaches into the hole in the door and pulls it open. Danny hurriedly backs up out of the way, then grabs hold of the back of Steve's shirt and follows him through, down the stone steps and out onto the driveway.

"Okay?" Steve asks, panting. He curls his hand around Danny's wrist, his palm damp with sweat. "You all right, Danny?"

Danny nods as he turns back to gaze at the house. "Your foot?"

"It's fine."

The house is dark and still, the door hanging open. Lightning flashes again, bathing the front yard in harsh, white light and in that split second Danny can see more statues--horrible gargoyle-like statues--lined up in the garden, watching them. Who would put those kind of things in their yard?

Steve's tightens his grip on Danny's wrist.

"Back to the car?" Danny asks.

"Back to the car," Steve agrees.

It's one long sprint down the driveway, through the gate--and this time Danny does tear his shirt, damn it--and down the leafy path. They reach the main road and slow to a quick walk, the street lights casting a warm, welcome glow. When Danny spots the Camaro, right where they left it, he's nearly giddy with joy.

They slide into the car and Steve guns the engine before Danny even has a chance to put his seatbelt on, tires screeching as pulls away and Danny doesn't even care, he just wants to put miles between them and that awful, horrible house.

"Tomorrow," Steve says, resolute. "We'll get some rest, and go back tomorrow. In the daylight. See if our guy left anything there. Makes more sense, right?"

"Right," Danny agrees with a nod.

He hates ghosts.

And later that night, after they've showered and had a snack, they dive into bed, pulling the covers up high and maybe Danny snuggles a bit closer than usual and maybe Steve is holding on to him a little too tight but neither of them say a word about it.

******

Danny stands at the end of the path, squinting against the sunlight at the broad hillside stretching out before them. The broad, _empty_ hillside, grasses swaying in the warm breeze, birds singing merrily as they flit from branch to branch in the trees overhead. No dilapidated old house, no rusty gate. No horrific statues. "Maybe it was the other path?"

"Which other path, Danny? We've checked both," Steve says.

"Are you sure it was this way, then?" Danny points back toward the road. "There might have been another turn-off, further down."

"Nope," Steve snaps. "No other turn-off." He looks down at the ground, frowns, then reaches into the grass and retrieves a torn scrap of cloth, white with blue pinstripes. Danny's shirt.

Danny scratches the back of his neck, bemused. "So, it's just--gone?"

"It's gone," Steve confirms.

"Okay then," Danny says, relieved. "I can work with that."

"It's gone, Danny." Arms crossed over his chest, Steve scowls at the hillside.

"Listen, babe," Danny says, resting a hand on Steve's shoulder. "I hate to break it to you, but the Navy SEAL Stare of Death will not make it reappear."

If anything, Steve's stare grows even more fierce. "It might."

"Come on, let's go get breakfast." Danny gives Steve's shoulder a small shake. "I'll buy you some pancakes, all right?"

"Seriously, Danny? That's it? A house disappears, and you want pancakes?"

"That house, disappearing? Improves my life greatly." Danny starts back toward the road. "I'm not mourning the loss."

Steve makes a face as he thinks it over. "Yeah. I see your point." He sighs, defeated.

"I knew you would."

"So," Steve says as he matches strides with Danny. "You back to believing in ghosts?"

"What ghosts?" Danny asks. "No haunted house; ergo, no ghosts, right?"

"Sure, Danny." Steve laughs. "Keep telling yourself that."

"I will, thank you very much."

And when Steve laughs again, pulling him close and nosing in to kiss to his cheek, Danny complains and threatens to withhold pancakes but that only seems to make Steve laugh harder and kiss him even more, which, much like disappearing haunted houses, is not really such a bad thing after all.  



End file.
